Almost, a Coda
by silvertonedwords
Summary: Per request, a little Storybrooke follow up to Almost. Or, all of the times Regina didn't manage to say I love you, and the first time she did.


Per request. (from Kirst614 in particular) Thank you for reading!

* * *

"Snow said she'd seen you heading this way."

Robin looks up. Roland is on a swing, doing rather well for himself despite the sudden halt to his father's pushes.

"Majesty!" He stumbles off the swing in an instant and barrels into her with outstretched arms.

She catches him with a laugh, her gaze pulled from Robin for the moment, and kneels to his height.

"I remember!"

"Yes, sweetheart. We all do."

He springs forward and hugs her again.

Robin has shaken himself out of his stupor enough to join them, a hand on Roland's back as he pulls away.

"I thought you'd want to spend time with Henry," he tells her, as though to explain why she has found hi here and not on her own doorstep.

Roland whispers to her and runs back to the slide eagerly.

She stands and tilts her head. "Have we met before?"

His laugh is bright and warm and sends a shiver up her spine.

She'd thought to find this encounter at least a little awkward.

In one world, after all, they'd barely begun to know each other, to learn how to tease and banter, to spend hours kissing in shadowed corners like giddy teenagers. He'd held her heart just the other day as though being introduced, a near stranger to its strengths and weaknesses, its faults and its fervor.

And yet in another, they'd known each other for the better part of a year. The banter had already become an often comfortable rhythm, and they'd spoken late at night in darkened kitchens, and walked the grounds on early mornings before anyone else woke, and argued and fought and forgiven.

It should be awkward, now, to meet in this new place.

But somehow, she thinks, her dark eyes falling into his, it's not at all.

He holds out a hand, grinning still. She does not take it.

Regina springs forward, crushing her lips into his with a fervor that nearly unbalances them both.

He loops an arm high around her shoulders to draw her closer.

This is not their first kiss, not even here (not even, she thinks with a grin, their first today).

But it feels different than the others because the line she'd always drawn between them, the loss she'd mourned, has today been restored to her.

Kissing him without the weight of that baggage, without trying to ease it by losing herself in their touch, makes this so much better than she'd thought.

She attends without having to force herself to the way that he holds her, strong and gentle, to the fervent press of his lips and the soothing slide of his fingers against her scalp, to the smile she feels against her lips.

She can _feel_ , in his touch, how much he wants her, and it doesn't scare her anymore.

When they finally break apart, they are breathless. She drags her hands from his waist to settle on his chest.

He glances over his shoulder to check on Roland, then looks back at her. He must have much to say, but he leaves it all for now in favor of cupping her jaw with one calloused hand, joy and wonder plain on his face even with its gravity.

He takes his time leaning forward to kiss her. His fingers brush across her cheek, and his breathing grows louder, and his eyes remain on hers until the very last moment when they are too close.

He moans when their lips finally touch, and she grins into his mouth, stepping closer until she can't anymore.

"That's the third time you've kissed me without warning, Milady," he breathes, his forehead pressed to hers and his eyes still closed. "You should warn a man."

She chuckles. "A pleasant shock though, I hope. Or have you lost your taste for it since this morning?"

"Very, very, _very_ pleasant." He finds her hand and raises it to his lips between them. "I told you we'd know."

"We did _not_ know."

"Our minds, perhaps." He presses her hand into his chest. "But our hearts did."

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Has anyone ever told you that you're an idiot?"

"You, I believe. At least a time or two."

She lifts her head from his. "Was that meant to be an 'I told you so'?"

He grins, his fingers still stroking her hand.

They'd stood much like this, in those last moments when the curse was gathering around them. How close that moment seems now, and yet what a world away.

"Robin."

"Mhm?" He listens patiently, but hope lights deep in his eyes, as though he's guessed what she's about to say.

She lifts a hand, momentarily surprised by how steady it is, and slides it along his jaw. He melts into her touch, his eyes warm and bright and almost tearful. "I love you."

She'd expected it to be hard to say, to hear a cracking, broken, cautious voice. But no, her words are clear and firm, because to say that truth is to breathe.

She'd slap him if he made a massive deal of it, got all weepy or spoke on and on about how glad he was that she'd finally been able to say it, that she'd given in to what he's wanted for them since the earliest days of their acquaintance. But she knows that he won't do that.

He smiles, settles his hand on her face, and earnestly replies, "I love you, too."

They smile at each other for a moment more before he laughs and tugs her into an embrace. She kisses his shoulder and then tucks her chin onto it, laughing when he squeezes her tightly and they have to stumble to rebalance.

"Hey, Robin?"

"Yeah?"

She fingers the hem of his button-up. "You've done this up inside out."

"No."

"Yes, indeed."

"I was trying to _impress_ you, earlier." He pulls back, his eyes wide in feigned, teasing concern. "Please tell me you didn't notice this morning."

She shakes her head with a mischievous grin, running a finger across his lips. "I was looking at your mouth this morning, Robin. Not your shirt."

He sighs dramatically. "Oh, good. What a relief."

"Are you not trying to impress me now?"

"My apologies, Milady. I shall be better groomed in future, so as to court you with the appropriate social graces."

She snorts. In addition to the arguing and teasing last year, they'd also gone to bed together plenty of times in the last few months. She's pretty sure social graces don't have much to say about that.

He slips fingers into her hair. "I thought I'd miss how long it was. But it suits you." He rubs a thumb along the neckline of her red dress. "As do the clothes. You look…more like you."

She swallows back a choking rush of warmth, narrowing her eyes at him. "You're just saying that because they have fewer laces and buttons and clasps."

He mock-gasps. "I'll have you know that I was definitely _not_ thinking that." But his gaze darkens, and his thumb moves from fabric to bare skin just above her neckline.

Heat flushes through her from the simple touch. Later, his eyes seem to promise.

She clears her throat. "Do you…want to come meet Henry?"

He squeezes her hand and smiles. "Roland!" he calls, turning to face the playground. "There's someone we're going to go meet."

As they each take one of Roland's hands and Robin gives her a reassuring smile, she's nervous for half a minute. Her worlds are colliding. But then she recalls the dream she'd had so often, back at the castle, of the four of them, together.

It's going to be wonderful.

 _I will never love again. And no one will ever love me._ It almost came true, a lifetime ago. Almost.


End file.
